


Shades

by Shmeowzow



Series: Post-Apocalyptic [3]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-09-18 15:24:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16997565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shmeowzow/pseuds/Shmeowzow
Summary: Before Handcock and MacCready, Domino had been involved with a certain, much-older-than-he-seemed agent whose interest in her dove much more deeply than she could have ever expected. He was the only one who knew all of her secrets, even the ones Domino didn't. After all, secrets were Deacon's best friends.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prequel to Sugarbomb and Toy Soldier.

Our sole survivor was still walking as if upon the legs of a newborn radstag, only having been out of the vault for a week then; almost two. She had a bit of decent scavenged gear when she made it to Diamond City for the first time, but by the time she'd left, not only was she outfitted with with the best armor her doe-eyes and limited caps could buy, but a new name as well. Plus, a few new friends, and a story. A story in the papers, about her. How strange. Everything was happening so quickly. One day her life had been a certain way, and the next? Well, everyone in this new version of the world surely knew that one's fate could change in an instant, even if none of them had been alive when the bombs dropped; or, most of them hadn't been, anyways. Preston Garvey surely counted himself among those people who knew that in these dire times, any lifeline, however unprepared it seemed, was worth risking over having accomplished nothing truly good in this place.

Domino had blasted away what she later learned was a Deathclaw, for him and his convoy, barely by the skin of her teeth. Perhaps being so new at this had given her an edge? A much-needed lack of immediate precaution when faced with obvious danger that only a pre-war, softie could possess? Whatever the case, she'd been able to rid them of their immediate obstacles, and as a result they'd all established a small, but well populated settlement not far off from where she'd found them. Domino had known it would be a safe bet because she'd been there already, more than once. Establishing Sanctuary had been a bittersweet experience for her. Once they were all settled and building shelter and the like, she finally entered her old home again.

She'd found Codsworth there sometime earlier, and left him to his own devices after gathering what little intel he had; now he was happy assiste the new settlers. After Codsworth,  she'd stumbled upon Dogmeat, who hadn't left her side since, despite her not being that much of a dog person. Cats were always more of her thing, but she suspected a guard-cat wouldn't do her much good these days. She puttered around that dusty space, reliving memories here and there, picking up valuables, and a few things she realized she'd be sad if she didn't; then she leftithe rest behind. She told Preston the whole settlement was up for grabs after she'd scoped out a nice foundation in town to build her new home upon. Preston eyed her warily but didn't ask any questions, which she was thankful for. Domino, who felt so different now from the woman who had kept that house, saw no need to burden herself with excess hubris. Now was the time for building anew, and finding her baby. Domino curled in upon herself some nights thinking about him having to live his life without his mother; it made her fucking sick, and there was still nothing she could do about it. The man responsible for the deaths of Shaun and his father had been made out to her as formidable, to say the least. She was going to need more manpower than Preston, Valentine, or Dogmeat combined to take out an experienced man like that, and so she was at a bit of an impasse.

Domino still couldn't bring herself to stay in her old home, and Sturges was busy working with the blueprints she'd given him to use on the old foundation she'd picked for a new one, so she was camping out with Mama Murphy one night when the doorbell rang. Dogmeat's ears perked up from the corner by a radiator Dom had hooked up to one of the few generators the townfolk had managed to scrap together, and he rose blankly up from his perch, moving his snout to the corner of the door, sniffing furiously, but not barking yet. Dom turned to Mama Murphy, who she had come to trust surprisingly quickly; Dom's pre-war family had no shortage of wise women with their stories to tell. Mama's unseeing eyes glanced toward the door, and she squinted hard for a moment before spewing some of her addict rhetoric, which Domino had a hard time not accepting as gospel for afforementioned reasons. She let a rattling breath escspe from her throat, almost seeming to collapse into herself before saying, cryptically as always, "You have nothing to fear behind that door, but...I see an ocean of lies and a lot of little boats floating upon it...and something you haven't seen in a long time."

Domino rushed to Mama, but she held up a stern, withered hand and said, "Go," quite firmly.

Dom hadn't known Mama Murphy for long, but she knew that the old woman knew things; she had the sight, just like Dom's mother had, and so Dom knew that it was of the upmost importance that she answer the door as instructed. Dogmeat stiffened as she approached, ready for anything as Dom unlocked the door and warily opened it a crack. The dog jammed his head into the small opening, sniffing furiously. Domino's gaze spanned the porch, down and across the street, but there was no one there. Before shutting the door back, Dom glanced down at a small paper bag sitting neatly upon their welcome mat. Tenitavely she snatched it up, slamming the door behind her and quickly locking it back up.

When she knew she and Mama were again safe from unknown outside forces, she opened the little bag slowly, and jammed a hand inside of it. There were several things in the mysterious bag, first of all, she withdrew something she indeed hadn't seen in quite some time, in the form of several unmarred bars of chocolate. Domino tried not to get skeeved out at this strange coincidence; chocolate had been her weakness before the war. Her husband had teased her relentlessly for it. She remembered him saying, _"I don't want to hear you calling yourself fat in your favorite dress after all that cake. And the chocolate fountain. And the syrup drenched ice cream..."_

It had been her 24th birthday party, before Shaun, and her husband had made everything chocolate themed, with the help of Dom's best friend Megan. Domino wasn't sure exactly why she only remembered certain things, like her best friend's name, the fact that her husband was in the military, or how he smelled when he was freshly showered, but not selective things, like what he did in the military, or either of their own given names. "What is it, child?"

Mama Murphy called to Domino from the other room, and she set the candy down absentmindedly while chirping that everything was fine as she continued digging through the little baggie. There were two things left, an unlabeled holotape, and something she hadn't seen since almost as long as she had seen real chocolate, and not the, "atomically improved" nonsense that fancy lads peddled; a simple silver chain with an opal crescent moon charm on it. Domino barely heard an old radio in the living room churn crooning music from before the war as the brown bag floated out of her hand and to the ground. It was a necklace she had once never taken off, but she hadn't seen it after her reawakening in the vault. She could have sworn she'd been wearing it, so when it wasn't there she lamented that she'd lost it during the scuffle and chaos of getting herself and her family into the vault, and moved on. Life out here put things in perspective, but she still gasped when her eyes caught it. It had been her grandmother's, left to Domino whe she passed. She'd always admired it as a child. Domino couldn't stop herself from smiling as she clasped the little thing around her neck, happy to be reunited with it.

She frowned at the holotape, heading back into the kitchen, where her pip-boy had been sitting on the counter. She loaded it in, and Mama listened to the muddled audio with her. After the little thing was finished, Domino turned to the older woman and raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever heard of this, Railroad thing before?"

Mama stilled a little, as if thinking, but eventually nodded. "Yeah, I've heard this n' that. Some people trust 'em, some think they're loons. I guess it depends on how you feel about Synths."

Domino mulled it over. There was no way to avoid the topic of Synths in Diamond City, but the only one she really knew was Valentine, and he was a friend. "What do you think, Mama Murph?"

"Hmm," she replied, rubbing her chin mindlessly.

"I'm not sure how to feel about it, I beleive they can be dangerous, but I know I can hear some of them. You know, thinking. Like that detective from Diamond City."

 _Mama could hear some of the Synths think?_ Now that was interesting. She went on, digging a dirty tin of Mentats out of her shirt-pocket and popping a few into her mouth, "Not exactly like humans, but it still seems like they're thinking, and they definitely feel things. They...react, to the things that happen around them."

Mama sighed tiredly, and pulled a dirty, crocheted wrap tighter around her shoulders. "Put some more scraps on the fire would you, precious?"

Domino obliged the old woman, and upon second inspection of the tape, she noticed a small, freshly drawn little map, and with the help of a few recognizable landmarks, she was able to narrow down exactly where whoever had left this on her doorstep had been intending for her to go. She had to admit she was curious; about the chocolate, her necklace, the lack of greeting. Whomever had visited them tonight knew things about her, and had to have been following her for some time, if they'd had their hands on her necklace. Even more concerning, for whatever reason, they wanted her to come to them. _Was it all some elaborate trap?_ Maybe Kellogg had gotten wind she was on the hunt for him. Stranger things had happened, and for such a sparsley populated new world, word sure traveled fast out here. Domino decided to eat and get some rest that night, but she knew there was only one way to figure it all out.

* * *

Deacon twiddled a pen around in his fingers, cap clenched in his teeth as they gnarled the frail plastic; he'd been fidgeting at his desk for what felt like hours, when Glory finally seemed to notice as she walked past him coming down the hall at HQ. "What's eating you today, Deac?"

Internally he tensed up, he needed to watch it. No reason for anyone to know he had cause to be anxious, because on the record, he didn't. Poker face on; easy, behind his sunglasses, he raised an eyebrow and turned toward her, stretching his arms to clasp his hands behind his neck, suddenly all casual. "Not you, unfortunately. Offering?"

Glory turned up her nose and kept walking toward Dez, or Pam, or wherever she'd been headed before. "You're disgusting, dude."

If only she knew. Deacon could deal with his coworkers thinking he was jittery due to pent-up sexual energy, if it meant throwing them off of his real plans. The ones starring a certain Pre-War popsicle-princess; the ones he'd been hatching since the day he'd first laid eyes on her back in Vault 111. _Now that had been a long time ago._ Before Barbie, even. But back then, he hadn't known that little freezer pop was going to end up being a larger part of his life at all. The second time he visited her, it had been official RR business, and at first he hadn't even realized it was that same vault from over 60 years and over a dozen faces ago.

Now she was up and out, kicking some serious ass and taking no prisoners, from the feedback he'd been getting, and in such a short amount of time. That gal was one seriously motivated little creamsicle. In her shoes, he couldn't see himself taking a much different path, given the hand she'd been dealt. Deacon glanced at the corner of his monitor screen at the time. It was getting late. His sources had her here hours ago already, and his worry was getting harder and harder to mask. Had she run into something she couldn't handle? He thought he had chosen the right time to nudge her toward the railroad; between the Deathclaw and Sinjin; plus, he'd watched her sweet talk her way into Diamond City himself. He was almost certain she was ready. She was already the perfect choice for bringing the institute to its knees, he just had to make sure she could handle herself. A little training with yours truly and she'd be unstoppable. He had to admit, he was excited to get her tuned up right and watch her go for real already. The map Deacon had drawn her to follow to HQ was the safest he knew; but even he had run into unexpected surprises on his way there a time or two, so he really didn't know what to expect for her. All he could do now was wait, and hope for the best.

Deacon's desktop pinged and he glanced at the screen again. His pip-boy chimed similarly; he'd received a message. He opened it up on the computer. It was a short correspondence from Roxy, one of the provisioners willing to come out this far for trading. Deacon was the only one who met with her, and she was technically a Railroad approved operative, but Rox still didn't know all of HQ was down here. She'd never asked, but he guessed she assumed it was only Deacon himself holed up here under the church, and that was just as well. Typing up a quick response, he was actually glad for the distraction. Maybe Roxy would be up for a little more than just training; he knew he was. It had been ages since he'd had any real fun with anyone, as most of his usual playmates had been busy or disinterested. Now was the perfect opprotunity to sneak out, with a completely legitimate excuse.

Hopping up from his desk, Deacon grabbed his pip-boy, clasping it over his arm and almost breezing past everyone without them asking any questions, but Dez's eagle-eyes caught him from across the room. Sometimes he was willing to bet real money she was a synth, and not the good-war fighting spinster she seemed to be. "Where are you going, Deacon? You aren't scheduled on a sweep for another few hours."

Without pausing, or looking back, he told her he was headed up to grab supplies from Roxy, and would be back in three shakes. She eyed him warily through a cloud of cigarette smoke, but cassualy waved him off. Deacon relaxed a little, grabbing a jacket before he headed topside.

* * *

After several grueling hours of travel on foot peppered with small, intermittent battles; mostly ghouls and those annoying fucking Chinese robots still scuttling around from wartime, Domino finally pushed through a door that had been locked by an irritatingly convoluted puzzle, at the near-end of a tunnel underneath a church. No doubt this was where she was meant to be by whoever had wanted her to find them; treasure maps and secret doors were rarely unrelated, or at least that was her guess.

Dogmeat's ears flattened and he let out a low growl, probably indicating he smelled people, or more baddies. She carefully pushed forward through a dark corridor until she stumbled into a well lit and well populated inner-chamber. Her presence was noticed by them immediately, and a chestnut haired woman surrounded by a few younger men with guns began questioning her rather aggressively. Dom was more than mildly irritated from her trip, due in part to the fact that one of those stupid little MKs happened to bust a latch on her chest armor, but choked her inner-bitch down long enough to explain she didn't mean their group any harm. She just about to mention she'd been lead here by a lunch bag full of nonsense when a tall, very well-built man in dirty clothes stepped forward, seemingly out of nowhere, and interrupted the pair, almost as aggresively as the older woman had been snapping questions at her, almost as if he'd been waiting, or even anxious to do so.

A large pair of dark sunglasses prevented Dom from reading his face as he regailed stories of her accomplishments to the woman she assumed was his leader, but she could tell by his body language and the fluctuating tone of his voice that he was hiding something. Dom was beginning to suspect he was the one who had drawn her here, as the puzzle pieces began to fall quickly into place via his alarmingly exaggerated stories. She remained silent as he rambled on, growing more and more wary of his possible motivation. He knew way too much about her; between that and his suspicious misuse of eyewear indoors, she was almost certain she couldn't trust him. She never trusted people if she couldn't see their eyes. However, curiosity was trumping her self-preservation enough for her to play along. She wanted to know who this man was, why he'd been following her, and ultimately, if these people could help her get Kellogg out of her way and get her closer to Shaun.

The small crowd of armed men and their leader whose name she had learned was Desdamona, trickled cautiously away, back to their normal duties, but none of them bothered to hide their staring as she slowly moved toward the man in the sunglasses. He extended a well-defined arm toward her, and she glanced at his hand, welcoming fingers splayed out wide, before taking it in hers and letting him rock it a little too enthusiastically. "Welcome to the Railroad! Name's Deacon. Sorry about the-"

"Why have you been following me?"

 _Shit_. Deacon stilled, glanced to the corner of the room at Des, smoking a cigarette and talking to Doc Carrington. He didn't think she'd heard, and silently hoped none of the other looky-loos had either. He was more than a little pissed off that he'd been late to his own surprise party, and had almost blown this whole op to smithereens just for a little nooky. Cursing internally, he kept the well-measured smile on his face and held his arms out, in faux-surrender. "You got me. Look, I'm sure you have a ton of questions, but we shouldn't talk about them here."

Domino let him lead her to a more secluded area of their HQ, where she was more and less comfortable at the same time. She didn't trust this Deacon guy as far as she could throw him, and with beef like he had on him, that wouldn't have been more than a few inches. Even the raiders and gunners she'd seen hadn't been as well put-together physically as he was; it took a lot of dedicated upkeep more sophisticated than just plundering and shooting at things every day. It made her even mote curious about him. She was however, glad to be away from all the prying stares and peripheral glances.

Domino had always hated being stared at, even before a stare meant life or death. She sat down in the chair he offered her across from him at a small, fold-up table in what could have been a break-room, or "recreational" area, of sorts. There was a radio, a stove, and a few other chairs and tables here and there. Deacon offered her some ashrose tea, but she declined. They were in no way on close enough terms for her to take a drink from him. Shrugging, he began putting together a cup for himself, masking the fact that he would have been disappointed in her if she had. She was shaping up to be just as smart as he thought she would be; it didn't take her 5 minutes to clock him as the person who had lead her here. He was almost... _proud_.

Deacon plopped himself down in the chair across from Domino and began sipping his tea. When he didn't remove his sunglasses, Dom bristled on the inside. _This guy definitely had something to hide._ She didn't mention it, however; if he was so insistent on wearing them indoors as to forgo manners, she couldn't imagine him being moved to remove them at her request. Since he had dodged her first question to move to a quieter place, she decided to try another. "How long have you bee following me?"

Deacon fought not to appear as if her question had fazed him, but he wasn't quite sure how to answer. He'd had his story all planned out for why he'd been following her, though relocating to the cafeteria hadn't been entirely to stall for time; he needed to keep her quizzing out of earshot of any other operatives, especially Dez and Carrington. That old bastard never trusted him as it was. Taking another sip of his tea and setting the cup down on the table very deliberately. He decided to go for transparency. Well, as much as he could afford, anyway. Sure he knew enough about this woman in theory, but he hadn't been around her person long enough to read whether or not he could get away with any extra fibbing, but he had a pretty strong gut feeling that she was just as sharp as he hoped she'd be.

Splaying his hands in front of him in defeat, he said, "Well, you got me."

Domino quirked an eyebrow at him, confused but intrigued.

"When you busted out of the Vault and started taking serious names, word got back to me from the powers that be that you might be a valuable asset to us. We're always looking out for heavy guns."

He studied her behind the darkness of his shades, and knew as soon as her mouth opened that she didn't believe him. "Strike Two."

His heart sank, pulse starting to race. "Wait, what was strike one?" She tapped the span of skin on her face between one eye and ear, indicating the sunglasses. _Well, Fuck._ "Oh-kay."

He said it deliberately in two syllables, sliding his mug away from him and clasping his hands together on the table. "If I promise to tell the truth, will you forget about the glasses?"

Domino stared at him, emotionless, mulling it over. She wanted answers, but those glasses were going ro continue to be an obstacle between her trusting him and not. When she told him as much she noticed he just barely looked physically relieved. That made her trust him even less. It meant that she was right about how closely he measured his own body language.

"It isn't unusual for ops to get sent out to old vaults. They may be crawling with baddies, but they're loaded with old supplies and tech."

He paused, tried to read her, see if she was buying it, but she had a damned good poker face. Besides, most of what he was telling her was true. He didn't say anything about telling her the whole truth. Semantics. Yeah, he knew it was fucked up, but he couldn't risk her finding out how long he'd had her trailed, or how much he knew. He couldnt be sure, but he had a feeling she would take the truth a little personally. "Besides, I'm kind of a sucker for old world shit. My dad-"

Deacon cursed at himself internally. He was accidentally going to tell her something that was true, something no one but he knew. He thought about it, decided it was too late for a lie to sound natural even from his silver tongue, and finished by saying, "My dad was actually from a Vault."

Domino narrowed her eyes at him then, almost as if she were running his words through some internal truth-database. She may as well have, if Deacon was 0-2 with her this early in the game. Her face almost opened up, as if he'd picked the lock on it with his words. Her intuition was so sharp it was a little alarming to him. He went on, "We knew Vault 111 was supposed to be for the 'best and brightest' and all that jazz, so we figured it'd be stocked up to the ceiling with pretty high quality loot. What no one was expecting, was for there to be cryo pods in it, let alone one that had been functioning up until recently."

His explanation made sense to Domino, and she was curious enough about something else to let the more petty details of his story slide. "So you saw him, then? You saw what they did?"

He felt an empathetic pang of loss for her when he realized what she was talking about. He looked down at his hands, fought the urge to clench them together, if only to hear his joints creak with the pressure. Instead, he told her another half-truth; those seemed to work well enough on her, and he hoped it stayed that way. Things were going to get complicated if it didn't. "I uh, I saw there was a man there. He looked...a little rough."

Deacon knew he shouldn't have said it that way. It came out stupid, and insensitive, but he'd always been shitty with things like that. She nodded anyways, and it seemed, to him, that perhaps she was just as inept at processing emotions, as opposed to burying them, as he. "He was my husband."

Deacon, of course, already knew this, but he feigned surprise as if he'd never heard anything so sad; which was positively untrue. No, having lost what she had lost is what made Domino so valuable to Deacon. _Domino_. He had no idea why, but that's what she called herself, however, Deacon knew her real name. Her given name. He realized only then that he held that information close enough to his real heart that he feared it might mean something, but he quickly brushed those thoughts away. Now was the time for listening...or so he thought. He thought she would do as he expected, break down into tears and relive the experience; if only to ease the pain by having someone else hear what happened to her, but she didn't. Instead, she asked him, and it almost seemed to Deacon as if she were angry when she said, "Where did you find my necklace?"

Domino tried and failed not to reach up to her throat and grasp the little thing. She had to know how he'd gotten it; this strange man who seemed to know so much about her, and who had so much to hide. Deacon's heart broke a little, because he had to lie to her again, if only a little. "I picked it up outside of your pod, the first day I ever saw you. It was just...shining, there on the floor. I'd never seen anything like it, to be honest."

About that at least, Deacon was being mostly honest. That necklace was the most precious, shimmering, undamaged thing he'd ever witnessed, until he finally met the woman it belonged to. Again, his lies seemed to satisfy her, and he almost felt guilty. He didn't have much time to mull that emotion over, however, because her next words just about winded him.

"Look, I'll help your group, or organization, or whatever. No questions asked. I just need one thing."

Deacon swallowed, hard. Need was a very strong word, and not one he indulged himself or others much in, anymore. Still, he listened. She looked at him, and he almost swore her dark eyes burned through to his behind the stupid glasses. "I need you to help me find my boy."

He stilled, mind all but frozen. That was certainly not the request he'd been expecting, given the things he knew. Deacon all at once realized he was in a lot deeper than he thought, with this one. He cursed himself again for wasting time being restless and literally fucking around, instead of running scenarios for this kind of shit.

"Kid, huh? Never had any myself, so I can't say I know what it's like to lose one, but sure. I'll do just about anything to get you on my team."

Domino visibly relaxed at this particular truth, and Deacon noticed how uptight she must have been before that moment. Her missing son had been weighing on her, and asking for help from a near stranger wasn't easy, but Domino was out of options, and time was wasting. She didn't have enough manpower behind her to take Kellogg on right then, and if it meant gambling with putting her safety in Deacon's hands, she was willing to do it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Carrington's prototype taken care of, and Dez pacified for the time being, Deacon is up to make good on his end of the bargain with Domino, but first, they take a much-needed detour in Goodneighbor.

Deacon was twiddling his thumbs on the corner of one far-end of the long stretch of bar at The Third Rail; he and Dom had stopped by after their suprisingly smooth securing of the prototype Doc C. had needed from their previous HQ. Though they had managed not to get anyone killed, thanks mostly to Domino, if he had to be honest, it had still taken a toll and some time, so the both of them had mutally decided that libations were in order. Domino had decided this, in spite of the fact that Deacon was in the doghouse on strike 3 right then. She'd caught him in another lie, and she usually tried to avoid imbibing around those she didn't trust.

They had been making small-talk between here and there on their way out to the old Slocums Joe to secure the prototype, and Deac thought maybe he could pull a fast one on her; maybe negate ever having to reveal how much he truly knew about her, because he was definitely having to compartmentalize the growing anxiety that the day would come, and he would have to tell her. He should have known better. It was a long shot anyways, but he told her he was one of the founders of RR and a synth, to boot, hoping that would finally quell her unease over the glasses. The realization that he was lying to her set in on Domino's face almost immediately though, and Deacon found himself frowning. She had sighed, heavy and long. "Why are you lying to me again?"

He hadn't known just what to say then, but went for his usual, comedic-releif-meets-beating-around-the-bush tomfoolery, and that at least seemed to throw her off of the subject. So as a result, she still didn't fully trust him, and maybe never would, but she couldn't help but feel an encroaching endearment for her quirky new companion.

After he told her what they needed to accomplish in order to free them up to help her find Shaun, Domino had agreed to stay at Railroad HQ for a few days before they headed out, to train. Deacon had heard enough, sure, but it would have been a serious oversight to trust Domino at his back without seeing how she handled herself with his own eyes; help her with her weak points, build upon her strengths. She was a decent warrior, but he was determined to turn her into a fucking  _Valkyrie._ He needed nothing less if she was truly the key to incinerating the Institute, and that was honestly the only thing Deacon never lied about wanting, or caring about. The Institute was the source of a problem, an enemy, and the only one he'd ever risk his own life to destroy at that. 

Domino herself was woman enough to admit she needed Deacon's tweaking. Before the bombs, she had been a housewife in her mid-30's, and though she could certainly defend herself well enough, had always been a little more abrasive than other girls; moxy, daddy-issues, and pent-up aggression would only get someone killed these days. So she needed him, begrudgingly or not.

And so, begrudgingly or not, Domino made the descision that night to try a few of her own tricks on Deacon, to see if she could open him up, even a little bit. And honestly, she'd be lying if she wasn't just a _little_ more interested in what lay beneath because he happened to be objectively easy-on-the-eyes, and she was always a sorry sucker for the, "dark, brooding, and mysterious" type. She knew he told her small truths, but was hiding something massive, and it was in her nature to get to the bottom of it. That's why Domino also loved open books; you could always trust them, trust what they would or wouldn't do, how they might react to any given thing. Guarded people drove Domino crazy, and thus interested her; and Deacon definitely fell into that category. She felt a need to crack his character marveled only by that of her late husband, and even thinking that scared Dom a little. She glanced at her companion while ordering a third round for them both from the other side of the bar, as Deacon pretended to be casual and unassuming with all that space between them; but she felt a certain, unwary kinship with him that lead her to believe he was just as hyper-aware of his surroundings as she was, only doubly good at hiding it.

Collecting her thoughts, Domino grabbed their two drinks from a the bartender, a very cockney Mr. Handy model named Charlie, and started her trek back to Deacon; to his immediate notice and intense chagrin, she was intercepted by no other than the very ghoulish mayor of Goodneighnor, John Hancock himself.  _"Fuck me."_

Deacon was murmering to himself and had set down his empty glass, almost rising from his seat before he realized that was what he was doing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that putrid slimeball brush fingers on Domino's exposed shoulder. It had been muggy that day, and she had left her jacket on an empty chair next to Deacon; what was worse was that when he watched her reaction to John's touch on her arm, her eyes softened just a hint, shoulders following suit. He realized she was relaxing.  _She wasn't disgusted by him._ She didn't see him any differently than anyone else, any other roguish, charming man approaching her at a bar. Deacon all at once realized that's what made it so easy for her to read him, because with built-in impartiality that evolved, she would have been able to read anyone. Any situation. He realized in that moment that the unnatural humanity she posessed, combined with her damnably uncanny intuition, made her downright dangerous. Especially to him. She was suddenly so perfect and so incerdibly scary to him, if only in that brief moment.

It was the moment before Deacon rose another half inch, hand almost to a weapon, when Domino shot him the ugliest glare he'd seen in  _decades,_ and he froze. No excuses, just, deer-in-the-headlights, didn't know what to do with himself. All processes stopped. No one else but him could have noticed, because a fraction of a second later, her face softened again, smile bright on her full lips as she whispered something in Hancock's ear, before brushing past him with confidence back toward Deacon, and her seat. Hancock's gaze lingered after her, and his dark, muddled eyes caught Deacon's, narrowing. Deacon stared back hard, and then the other man glanced away, suddenly occupied by someone else in a dress. _Good Riddance._ Deacon had already lowered himself back into his own seat by then, slightly dazed by how much he had left to unpack out of the last few minutes. Domino sat down casually, smiled, turned, and immediately her face was nothing but serious. "If ever need help, I will ask. Until then, I'd appreciate you letting me handle my own business."

Finishing her point, and unwittingly giving him time to form a calculated response, she took a generous swallow of her drink. Deacon wanted to say something funny, or maybe something inappropriate, to lighten the mood, but all he could think was,  _"One day you won't know you need help until it's too late,"_ and all he said was, surprisingly again, something true, "Fair, just...be careful with that one in particular. For me."

Domino's left eyebrow raised up so high he thought it might hit the dingy ceiling, and so he took a sip of his own drink before hissing, "What? What did I do wrong now,  _Ma'am?_ "

Domino chuckled to herself at that, and prodded him further. " _For you_ , huh? What are you, my big brother?"

Deacon thought he might blush, but choked it down. He had no fucking clue why he'd phrased it like that, why he'd sown the seeds of belief in her mind that he cared about her. It was not a power shift he cared to entertain, but he took note of it begrudgingly and moved on; cut his losses. Neutral response engage. "Fine then, be difficult. Just don't come crying to me after I warned you."

Deacon could tell Domino respected his honestly, and he  _hated_ it. This would all have been so much easier if she had turned out being rotten, after all, but as things stood, he was beginning to realize he got along with her better, and on a more even level, than with anyone else in his recent memory.  _Damn it all._ Before he could overthink it any further, Domino raised her glass to his for an impromptu toast, shattering any awkward conversational cobwebs to ashes as she said, "To being difficult."

Deacon wished he could have risked removing his shades long enough to do a proper toast with her, look her in her dark eyes as he replied, almost chucking as he clinked his glass back into hers and said, "To being difficult."

After a few more drinks and some light conversation, Deacon couldn't help but notice that Domino would not stop stealing glances at old Magnolia, crooning away in her usual corner, the emptier and more frequent her glasses became. He didn't peg her for bisexual, but what the hell did he know? Her body language was reading all fluid as she watched the older singer hit those sad, warbling notes, and he could almost feel hinself getting jealous. Be it for her attention or affection, Deacon decided to do the one thing he knew how to do best, to distract her with lies. But first, one more round. More for him, right that second. Jealousy was not a thing he needed to be feeling for his new friend. Deacon chalked it up as a healthy interest in her well being, and nodded toward the bartender just as Domino looked down at her glass, polishing it off before setting it on the bartop and returning her gaze to the stage. Deacon had a sinking feeling he didn't have much time. His eyes found Hancock in a booth in the corner, chatting up some scantily-clad ghoulette, and knew at least  _that one's_ attentions were occupied.  _Magnolia on the other hand..._

He'd had his own fun with Mag, and he knew firsthand she went both ways. He hastily ordered two more drinks, keeping his peripheral sight on Dom. Charlie had turned around and all of a sudden his girl was on the move.  _Shit._ He couldn't act now for fear of seeming obvious, so he waited, very impatiently, for the old-world robot to finish with their drinks before snatching them away and quickly pacing himself toward the little stage in the bar, where Domino and Magnolia were currently perched, laughing and touching each other like old friends; Mag's last song had finished while he had been toiling away at the bartop. A coy smile lit up the older woman's face and she all but purred his name as he approached. "Been a while since I've seen  _you_ in these parts."

Deacon didn't like the way she'd said, "you," like she either didn't entirely approve of his company, or knew she'd seen him more recently, just not like _this_. He didn't know which one he was more uncomfortable with, so he shrugged it off and put on a bemused face, handing the other glass to Domino.  She was watching the exchange with neutrality, and casually took a sip of her new drink. "You know me sugar, I'm a rolling stone. Not all of us are so lucky to have found a guilded nest to hole up in."

Domino didn't seem surprised that they were acquainted, and that irritated him even more. In fact, she didn't really seem interested in anything except Magnolia's soft, aging face. Even from here he could see her eyes trying to memorize and log away every last detail, like she'd done to him countless times when she thought he wasn't watching, and sometimes when she didn't care if he did. Before Mag could respond, before he even knew he was angry, Deacon had grabbed Domino's wrist, and began forcibly pulling her in the other direction. Luckily, she'd already been holding the drink he'd just presented her with, or it would have gotten left behind; she was a little too shocked to react just yet. Deacon spat behind him, "You'll have to excuse us, Mag."

She continued letting him drag her around until they were outside, in a secluded area of what one might call a, "patio," if it weren't just a concrete slab with some seating outside of the Third Rail. Finally, she yanked her arm away from him, setting her drink down, and slapped him hard with her now free hand. Deacon was stunned. His face burned from the contact but her hand had been cool from her drink, so all that remained was kind of a dull stinging. Despite her blow his shades had remained on, and he righted them slowly, flexing both of his fists at his sides, powering down. She'd had the right to strike him, he knew, and so he couldn't let his anger funnel through to her. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Her voice boomed around them, but there wasn't really anyone in the immediate area to hear; save for a drifter asleep in a pile of trash across the street. "I'm the guy that's going to keep your ass alive, if you don't beat me to getting it skinned, first."

Deacon kept his voice even and low, but there was still an edge of irritable bass creeping through that he didn't like. Air hissed out of Domino's lungs as she ran a hand through her dirty, windblown hair. "You had no right to grab me like that. You do not touch me. And what's more, you made a _scene_."

She spat the last word out like a curse, and found herself pointing at him furiously, something she remembered her husband hated her doing when they fought. She angrily swallowed the memory, and moved on. "What the fuck is your problem, anyways? You've been acting weird ever since we got here. First John, then the shit with Magnolia?"

Deacon hated himself as soon as the words left his mouth, but that childish part of him, the part that housed this unnatural, unbiased anger that had cropped up from nothing; that part that was having a hard time shutting down, said, "Oh, so we're a on first-name basis with him now?"

He knew it was a mistake as soon as he saw her eyes change, narrow, go darker somehow than they already were. He braced himself for the lashout, for another hit, for anything, but her voice was even and measured, despite how suddenly closed-off her posture was when she said, "I beleive you saw him introduce himself to me, yeah."

Deacon winced, internally. He'd hit a nerve. Domino's arms were crossed and she was glaring a hole in the pavement at his feet. She was used to having to explain herself to other men in these situations; had probably been called nasty names for hanging around with guys when she was young. Deacon would have put money on it. It made him feel awful. There was an ugly silence hanging in the air between them now, until Domino all but whispered, "I'm going home. Forget about Kellogg, I'll find someone else to help me."

She turned around, headed for the door, and Deacon reached for her, came  _so close_ to grabbing her shoulder, but her words from just a few minutes ago rang out again in his head, and he stopped short. Instead he said, "I'm sorry."

He didn't expect her to stop, but she did. He saw her think about whether to turn around or keep going, and it was taking a little bit longer than he was comfortable with. He had to tip the scales, think of something to say, keep her on his side. "Look, this town is a sketchy place, okay? John and I..." Deacon trailed off, trying to think of anything not entirely telling to say about his feelings on the subject of the Mayor of Goodneighbor. "We just don't see eye-to-eye on things, okay?"

He held his hands out in defeat, and she seemed pacified, if only for a moment. Before she could get all up in arms about what happened with Magnolia, he tried to save himself with another lie. "I know you can handle yourself out in the wastes, but in the city you have to be a little more careful. You're not always going to have your best weapons around when you run into trouble out here. I want to teach you some more basic hand-to-hand techniques for when-"

"Bullshit."

Domino cut him off, and Deacon had been too wrapped up spinning his new narrative about wanting to better prepare her to deal with slimeballs to even notice the subtle changes in her stance and face. Her hands were on her hips now, and the lazer focus she'd been aiming at the concrete below only moments before was now directed squarely between his eyes. "I'm done with your lies, Deacon. I'm going home."

He hated the way that name rolled off of her tongue in anger, and he was desperate to change it, but what could he do? His plan had backfired. He needed to buy some time. Following her inside, he whispered furiously behind her. "Look, I know you're pissed off at me, but it's too dangerous for you to try and make it back to Sanctuary by yourself."

She kept winding through the furniture and people, back toward the bar, never pausing, never indicating that she was listening to him, but he knew she was. She grabbed her coat from her chair and shrugged it on, flagging Charlie down from behind the bar for a shot. "Make that two!"

He squeezed in beside her as she continued to ignore him, rummaging through a bag on her hip for caps. Suddenly, he had a thought. "Just stay here tonight. I'll pay for your room."

"No," she said flatly, dropping a handful of caps on the bar and taking her shot from just behind them.

"Hey Chuck, put a room on my tab," Deacon murmured, drawing the caps for his shot out and laying them in a pile with hers. Domino's eyes were hard and her mouth was set in a thin, strait line. 

"Look, I know I blew it tonight, but don't make the Railroad pay for my mistakes. Just sleep on it, okay? I'll fuck off and leave you alone."

He chanced a glance out if the corner of his sunglasses at her. It was so strange to see her in full color, for once. Her hair was such a beautiful shade, when it wasn't dampened by his need for secrecy. Before she could think too long, he blurted, "Promise. They really do need you."

That seemed to soften her up finally, if only a little. "Fine," she hissed, shooting his shot as well, and grabbing the key Charlie had left for them on the bartop, "I'm going to take a shower."

She disappeared around the corner and Deacon let out a sigh of relief, ordered himself a replacement, and relaxed only slightly after he'd finally swallowes his own shot down. He'd come really close to fucking this up for not just him, but everyone. He'd have to walk on eggshells with Domino now even more than before, and it made Deacon wonder once more if this whole charade was indeed, out of his depth.

* * *

Domino towel-tried her hair with one of the worn little rags the room had provided. She couldn't beleive she'd let Deacon talk her into staying, but at the root of things,  _he was right._ It was dangerous enough going anywhere on foot alone during the day, but at night? That was just a stupid idea and even she knew it, no matter how furious she was at him. On top of that, she'd been drinking. It was a recipe for disaster or worse, and so she stayed. Running fingers through her damp locks, she was moving back into the room toward her pack to find something to sleep in, and out of a rolled-up shirt fell an old tin of Mentats that flopped onto the comforter below. Dom swallowed. Mama Murphy had given her a few tablets from her stash before she left on her journey, for the nightmares. At first she was against it; she'd had a pretty significant pill problem in her early life, and she didn't really want to open that can of worms again, but...just a few here and there weren't going to hurt her, right? And besides, they helped make the dreams feel less hellish, less real, and that was worth it to her right now. She knew she probably shouldn't have, especially having been drinking, but she took a little green oval from the tin and dry swallowed it into oblivion before burying the old thing back among her clothing. Domino didn't have the energy to fight her demons tonight.

Just then, she heard three heavy knocks on the door to her room. Deacon. Who else could it have been? No one she knew had any idea she was here. Moving toward the door she unlocked it, swinging it open. "What happened to letting me sleep on it?"

Deacon was now dressed in more comfortable clothes, and she had to wonder if he'd gotten a room for himself as well. It took Deacon a little longer than he'd planned to form an answer; after all, he hadn't been expecting Domino to open her door in nothing but a small, damp towel. He visibly swallowed, knew she would notice, but otherwise kept his physical behavior in check. Staring strait ahead, arms crossed over his chest, he attempted a shrug. "Just keeping you on your toes."

Domino rolled her eyes and left the door open, inviting him in and showing him her back as she grabbed for some shorts in her bag, which he found irritating. She may have pretended to be on to his bullshit, but even he never left himself so vulnerable to people he did fully trust. She was in and out of the bathroom in little time though, now in a long shirt and pair of men's boxershorts. He failed not to notice she wasn't wearing anything under the shirt, and the way the soft fabric settled around her breasts as she bent down and dug a mostly-full, brown bottle out of her pack. He had to wonder if she was wearing anything under the shorts, either. _Had to. Yeah._ Heat was creeping up his neck from under his collar, so he fought it by staring above her head, at some cracks in the wall. "Deacon."

He startled at her voice, looked down, and noticed she'd been holding the bottle out toward him. Tenitavely, he took it, careful not to touch her skin just then. "Drink, and then tell me something true about you."

She fell backwards onto the dusty bed with a muffled thump, crossing her arms over her chest and staring up at him petulantly. "And if I ask you a question, you have to answer it honestly, or you drink. No exceptions."

Domino was determined to mine some information from this guy, and she was honestly punishing him for lying to her so many times already. She hated unknowns, and all the ones under his belt were making her itch to scratch at them. Deacon raised an eyebrow and uncapped the bottle. Tonight was definitely going in a weird direction.  _Fuck it._ At least she wasn't mad at him anymore. He could play along for a while if it distracted her from his missteps. "Dare I ask or else?"

She shrugged, eyes neutral but with an edge of exhaustion. "Or else get out. I'm not going to work with someone who constantly insults my intelligence by lying to me."

That stung a little, but didn't make it any less true. Deacon figured that was fair enough for him, taking a shallow swig from the bottle, which Domino noted and disapproved of. He could throw back a lot of booze, but they had been drinking for hours already. He needed to be careful. It burned big on the way down; probably bourbon, maybe dark rum. This was going to be fun. She kept her gaze on him, intent on catching a tell if he started to lie to her. So he did what she asked, and told her something true. "I'm a redhead."

He expected her jaw to hit the floor, but she didn't even flinch. "Veto, I already knew that." 

It was Deacon's turn to be surprised, and he knew it showed on his face.  _How in the hell?_ Domino rolled her eyes. "I'll explain it all later. Really doesn't break down to anything more than being observant."

 _Okay, fine._  Deacon fought the urge to grumble. Before he could think of something else true about himself worth telling her, she interrupted him with a question. "Have you ever been in love?"

Domino wanted to know something _personal_ about him. Something to redeem him, to help her trust him. That, and she could feel the soft pull of the drugs fettering away at her harder, more tuned edges. It had opened her up to the risk of upsetting him.  Deacon's throat tightened a little bit, but he saw no reason not to answer truthfully. "Come on, Domino, everyone's been in love."

She shook her head, a little sad that he'd sidestepped the question. "We both know that's not true."

There was an uncomfortable silence Domino saw to follow up with an even more uncomfortable question. Since she wasn't getting anywhere with her first, she'd pry harder. So she gambled a little more. "What happened to her?"

Deacon's fist closed so tightly around the neck of the bottle as he wordlessly lifted it to his lips that he feared it was audible, but the burning liquor in his mouth was distraction enough to ease up on it. Domino nodded only slightly and didn't press him on that subject any further. That reaction had been enough to put her off of it, and almost made her feel guilty. Deacon really wanted to keep it that way, and whatever was in that bottle, mixed with countless other libations, had him feeling a little more loose-lipped that usual; and he knew she was still expecting the truth she had asked for. "You remember I said my father was from a vault?"

She nodded, almost eagerly. "Of course. It's one of the only non-lies you've told me."

He chuckled a little. It was an exaggeration, but not exactly undeserved. "Well, the guy was a real piece of work."

Deacon sat on the floor, crossing his legs and setting the bottle down within reaching distance. He didn't really know why his brain had chosen this particular chapter of his life to reveal, as no one alive but he knew anything that telling about his past, but he couldn't seem to think of a reason her knowing might ever matter, either. "He liked to think of himself as a man of God, but in reality, he was no better than an evangelical cult leader."

Domino listened with rapt attention, keeping her eyes on him as she reached down to the floor for a drink from the bottle. "We had different ways of seeing a lot of things. Nothing I ever did was good enough, and all those cliches. He told me his vision for my life was to spread his message, become a Deacon in his organization."

Deacon shrugged, held his hands out to the side. "Long story short, the day he died I changed my name to Deacon. That way he couldn't say I never did anything he asked."

Domino nodded quietly, and even thanked him for sharing that with her, after a time. He hated the way her face softened after he was done, the way her body relaxed. He couldn't figure out why truth, and personal anidcotes seemed to be so important to her. No amount of truth was going to make up for his lies, and what was more than that, even "honest" folks could put a knife in your back without having to open their mouths at all. Dom couldn't think of anything else to say at that moment, busy putting this and that together in her mind; filling in blanks and tying up lose ends in her mental dossier on him. Deacon was sinking with the somber silence hanging around them, so he decided to give her a hard time. "Alright freezer-princess, it's your turn. Tell me something true."

Domino returned to the room mentally, and gave him a look then that he thought he might never see again, and had never seen her wear at all; playful indignance. "First of all, I always tell you the truth. But I'll be the bigger man, if that's what it takes."

Deacon knew she'd know that phrasing would rile him, and it did, but he made no show of it. He wanted his secrets now, and in that moment realized at least a fraction of truth's possible appeal. It was thrilling. Domino decided on something safe, and revealed that she'd begun to have nightmares about her husband's murder and Shaun's abduction ever since she woke up from cryo-sleep. "But not just bad dreams, like you have when you're a child, and you wake up feeling relieved that it was all in your head."

Deacon watched her body language shift and become a little less relaxed. Her eyes were wide and he realized they were full of tears. She was trying hard not to blink so none would spill. She tended to get overemotional when she was drinking, and had always felt it embarrassing. "These dreams feel like they're real, like I'm  _there._ Only I can't change anything, I can't even scream. And when I wake up, the adrenaline is real and it feels like an actual memory. Like something I really experienced, independent if the actual event; even though I know it isn't."

She shrugged, and wiped at her eyes with the bottom of her shirt. In the brief instant her midriff showed underneath, Deacon noticed she had two dimples, like a spiderbite scar, around the top of her bellybutton.  _Now that was interesting._ He didn't peg her for a wild-child; someone who would have had their bellybutton pierced, but his little freezerpop was turning out to be full of surprises. For one, she had let him into her room after he'd promised to leave her be, and secondly, she was giving him way,  _way_ too many chances. Deacon hoped his face hadn't flushed while he was peeping at her exposed skin, and she surprised him with another demand. Domino really wanted to change the subject now that particular burden was off her chest. "Okay, so I know something aboutyour past now, at least. Tell me something that's true about you  _right now._ In the present."

And with that, Deacon maybe devolved a little, because he gave up. Just a little, but he knew him giving up a little could lead to a lot more. He stated, "Alright, fine."

He gave up a little, because he realized that's what it would take, to crack her; to ultimately distract her without risking her sanity and her having to deal with pent-up emotions. And so he said, "In truth, I've been fighting not to touch you, all nignt."

He punctuated that statement with a generous swig from the bottle, letting it hang heavy around the room. For a second he thought she might resist, that she might not begin to entertain a fantasy even he dared not to most days, far,  _far_ too dangerous; but she did. She very literally crawled into the trap he wasn't quite sure he'd been ready to set, but there they were. As she had moved from the bed to the floor, crawling,  _god help him,_ on her actual hands and knees toward him, Deacon felt that odd sensation he sometimes got around her where he didn't quite know what to do, so he didn't do anything. Just waited while he felt himself stiffening as she finally paused in front of him, having taken a detour for the bottle between Point A and Point B, a time-out he'd been pretty happy to have been granted.

Domino stared at every feature on his face, intensely mapping them as she went. He knew what she was doing, and he let her. Liked it even, in the current context. He even let her struggle to try and find his eyes beneath the shades, but finally give up. He stopped noticing anything as soon as she pressed her full, pillowy lips against his, because in that instant, to him it felt like the whole universe had come to a halt around them. Dom herself was finding it hard to overcome the shock of adrenaline her brain had forced through her veins when their lips met, but after a few moments it all felt familiar again; like riding a bike. Her body poured into his lap, like hot chocolate syrup on a quickly-melting sundae. Deacon found it hard to do anything but follow her lead, though he  _had_ kind of initiated this whole thing. He just wasn't expecting how much he was going to enjoy it. His hands moved naturally to rest on her hips, just above her downright  _juicy_ cheeks, when Domino arched her back, forcing that ass into his hands and her groin...other places. He let out a muffled,  _"Mmph"_ as her center slid into contact with his hardending length through his now noticeably thin lounging pants.

He guessed she wasn't wearing anything under the boxershorts, but decided there was only one way to find out. One of his hands snaked back around her waist and paused as Domino opened her mouth, pressing her tongue onto his. After the initial rush of epinephrine from their deepening kiss, his digits continued their pursuit of discovery, sliding fabric of her shorts aside and finding nothing but warm, slickening skin behind them... _bingo._ She sighed into his mouth when his fingers made contact with her and her back arched again, almost forcing his fingers further,  _inside,_ but Deacon didn't want to be the one to cross that boundary first. He was cripplingly aware that this was very likely, her first sexual experience after emerging from the vault, and after a very long time. This, he knew, would be a bit like losing her virginity a second time, in a new world and a different reality. He didn't know if she wanted the memory of that experience to be shared with him, or if she even cared. About the former at least, he knew he wouldn't. So he controlled himself, like he so rarely did in these situations, and pulled away from her salacious mouth. That absense of warmth disappointed even him, but he still managed to find words. "You uh, sure you wanna do this with me, princess?"

Domino herself was a little hesitant to move forward; it wasn't that she didn't want to, she could very much have used some physical healing right then. But it had been so long since she had been with anyone, she wasn't sure she knew exactly how to use her body that way anymore. The memory of her last time was pretty recent, sure. It had been with her husband, sometime right before the world exploded into chaos and decay, but even in her mind, that was weeks ago, and physically, she knew now, it had been much longer. She could almost taste the words that came rolling out of Deacon's mouth though, and it was tipping the scales dangerously. Domino was a sucker for terms of endearment, and "princess" was pretty high up there. Plus, the little pill she'd swallowed earlier was only adding weight to her desire to disappear into the body of his man she knew she shouldnt trust. 

She decided the best way to go about it was to make it nothing of substance at all; like candy, just something to be enjoyed, something she wanted  _right then._ Though Domino knew it was a mistake, might come back to haunt her or worse one day, she slowly slid one hand down Deacon's corded, muscular core, dipping it beneath his trousers. Deacon's heart stopped, breath freezing in his throat as he felt the woman in his lap map out his aching cock with her fingers; sizing him up, hardening him. His hands wandered away from their previous positions, tenuously snaking them under her shirt, up and up, until he could feel the soft curves of her breast mounding up underneath them. Domino sighed as he kneaded them softly, and Deacon stopped caring whether or not she truly answered him, and eventually forgot what he'd asked her all together as she pulled his pants down, over his hips and under his ass. Then there was cool air between her warm fingers on his shaft, and the sensation threw his head back, adams-apple bobbing prominently in his throat, fingers pausing on her chest.

There was barely time to register the temperature difference, because Domino had begun slowly lowering her hips toward his, brushing the fabric of her shorts aside. He could feel the heat from her body so close to him it made him ache to be inside her, but the game was still in her control.  _For now,_ a wicked part of Deacon thought, and it was counting down the seconds until it was his turn. He didn't have to wait long; with slow, careful movements, Domino shifted her weight downward, leaving him pushing against her entrance precariously.  _"Unh..."_

The noise left him like a hiss as the nerve endings in his groin lit up. He clamped down on her breasts when she pressed on, putting more weight behind the shift. She was so tight, too tight for him to fit right now, and so he was stuck on a plane of near-agony between fucking the beautiful woman in his lap, and not quite. Domino was having no less trouble with this; she was breathing heavily from the light pain of Deacon pawing her breasts, the force it was taking to nudge him slowly further, and the pleasure building within her already. She'd always been tight, but her husband had been quite well endowed, so she never really had a problem accomodating him over time. Her body had been more used to it then, more calibrated for a large male presence within. That, it seemed, was no longer the case. Domino gasped as she slid downward about a full inch, and Deacon had started breathing in the form of shallow, muffled noises.  _Just a little bit further._

Wicked Deacon was done waiting. She'd all but given him permission at this point, and didn't seem able to rectify the situation herself. Pressing his lips against hers, opening them with his tongue, he distracted her enough to remove his hands from her chest, place them firmly on her thick hips, and force her the rest of the way down. Domino cried out into his mouth but he was unrelenting, her legs had started to shake as his tongue mapped her mouth and lips with fervor. Then he finished it, shoved her all the way down, now completely sheathed within her quivering body. 

Domino was whimpering sporadically as he held her down, finally released her mouth. It was taking everything in her not to scream, but she wouldn't have known what for if she did. Was she in pain? Sure. Deacon's manhood was stretching her to the point of sharp discomfort, but it was accompanied by the most amazing sensation in her nervous system in even distant memory. Her face was on fire, and the fact that his cock had made her blush was driving Deacon to insanity. His ego fanned out like a peacock's feathers, and he began to devour her body with an intensity he forgot he'd possessed. His fingers dug into her hips as he used them to control her, control their pace as he slammed up into her frantically. Domino was making sweet, feather-light noises that made goosebumps spread from Deacon's ears and down his arms as he held her tightly to his body. She attempted to keep pace with her hips, sliding them down against his own thrust forcefully every other beat or so. He loved how responsive her body was, how she seemed to been enjoying their little tryst every bit as much as he was; it was such a turn off when women just stared and made him do all the work.

Domino gained speed, matching his pace a little more closely now. She had just gotten herself at an angle where he plowed strait into the g-spot at her core, and the rest of her was desperately trying to find friction to match the growing ache of oncoming orgasm. Sensing this, Deacon slowed a few measures, almost stopped, and began leaning Dom to the ground, while carefully repositioning their bodies so that he now loomed over her, all sweat and sexy bulk, pausing just barely within her again. He took a moment to drink her in, chest heaving, condensation beading upon any exposed skin, with her hair splayed out around her on the floor like some kind of post-apocalyptic halo. It almost made him want to take the shades off.  _Almost._ Instead he lowered himself down further, easing his cock back into place until he could reach her mouth. Her arms encased his neck, fingers tangling in his course curls and pulling at them; Deacon was glad he hadn't opted for a wig today as her soft tongue moved in circles around his welcoming mouth.

He found himself easing into the rythm a little more slowly this time, enjoying the way her mewling had gone from frantic and muddled to something so much softer, and a little more deliberate. Domino had gone back to controlling the position of her own hips as he slid inward then, making sure the mound of skin below his navel made gratuitous contact with her ever-swelling clit. Deacon grinned, doubling his weight down against her there, resulting in deeper, more powerful thrusts from his hips. Moans began tearing out of Domino as she focused on that growing tidal-wave within her, and Deacon would very soon be no better off, he feared. Normally he stayed pretty quiet during sex, for a lot of different reasons, but as his own pleasure was fast becoming too much to bear, his ears caught himself slipping every now and then. The noise of him this enraptured in anything was almost foreign to him anymore. Domino wrapped her legs tightly around him, arched herself up just a little more, just enough to send her over the edge with the next few thrusts, and she came grasping and clawing at every part of Deacon she could reach, voice irradiating from her in blasts of breathless noise, and Deacon cursed that he couldn't see her face as as she came wholly undone for him.  _Just for him._

He didn't have much time to mourn that particular loss, or overcontemplate why he even cared, because her soft walls closing so sporadically tightly around him had him coming unraveled as well. He felt himself spilling inside of her after it was too late to change his mind about doing so. He hadn't wanted to, knew it was a bad idea for more than a handful of reasons, but in that moment none of them mattered. Her legs, arms, whole body quivered beneath him as he kept pumping himself slowly, enjoying the decadent feeling of his seed pooling in her and around himself in the death-rattle of their lovemaking just a little too much. Finally he stilled, head buried in the sweet moisture of her neck, and fell out of her softly; she sighed playfully, and tensed up, like maybe it had tickled just a little. Deacon didn't know why, but the thought warmed his heart, and that was dangerous territory. He'd accomplished his ultimate goal of the night, to get out of the doghouse with Domino, and distract her from asking him anything he wouldn't want to answer at least partially in truth. He was done now. No more contemplation needed. He found himself suddenly exhausted from the effort.

He helped her rise from the floor, playfully mussing the top of her head and leaving a chaste kiss there before heading to the bathroom to wash up. He roguishly called behind him, "You've uh, got a little bit of sex-hair going on up there, sister. Might wanna get that checked out."

Domino crossed her arms in faux-defiance, plodding close behind him before quipping back, "Yeah? Well I didn't exactly give it to myself. And I hear it's deathly contagious. And terminal."

Deacon cracked a smile he was glad she couldn't see and turned the shower on high, focusing a little too hard on the thundering noise of the water. He couldn't remember the last time he'd met someone as funny as she could be. The current state of the world didn't exactly leave much room for humor. He was disgusted with himself when he realized how much more it endeared her to him. Shutting that side of himself down for good for the night, he slipped back into the here-and-now. Crossing theoritically emotional bridges would have to come after he'd gotten some real sleep. "Well, we better find the guy and lock him up. Sounds like a real menace."

"Yeah. Total 'Public Enemy Number One' material."

Domino stated in a flat, forboding tone; and Deacon really didn't like the way she smirked when she said it.


	3. Chapter 3

Domino awoke from another nightmare, breathing heavily, hair matted with sweat on her neck and forehead. She cursed herself for not sneaking another little pill before she and Deacon had turned in for the night, but she'd had some other plans, and waking up before both sun and her sleeping partner were imperative to them. Rising up on her elbows with stealth, she glared a hole in the shades resting on the crooked bridge of Deacon's faintly stirring nose. He hadn't even taken them off in the shower, let alone to tuck-in. His broad chest rose and fell with every dreaming inhale, and she could just make out some faint stubble regrowth fanning softly across his upper torso, until the rumpled sheets started to swallow it all up. She wondered if he shaved himself for personal preference, or if it was just easier for anonymity's sake. 

They'd spoken briefly about his various plastic surgeries, so she knew her obsession with completing his face was, in the end, moot, but that didn't stop her arm from stretching quietly toward his glasses in the dark. There  _had_ to be a reason he drew a line at the eyes to make such a point about hiding them, and she needed to know why it was drawn. Careful that not even the linens rustled as she leaned over his body, Dom moved her fingers closer, until finally they rested, perching just on the edge of the frame. Domino took a deep breath, listened for any changes in Deacon's own breathing, any movement at all, but there was nothing. _Showtime._ Letting the air out even and slow, through her lips, her fingers closed around the hard plastic glasses on Deacon's face. 

She'd barely moved them a fraction of an inch when Deacon's hand shot out, grasping her wrist with bruising force. Domino made an alarmed peep as his core clenched his torso into a sitting position, taking Dom with him a little too fast.  _Fuck,_ she had known the half-baked idea would be a mistake, and cried out in pain as her wrist-bone throbbed, aching to be released before it overextended itself trying not to break at such an odd angle. She let her body fall to the bed with her arm behind her, face in the comforter, but his grasp never relented. "DEACON!"

Her voice rang out through the room like a bell and he released her just as suddenly as it had sounded. Domino was breathless and drew herself up to her knees, facing him, clutching her hand as she panted, "I'm sorry," but Deacon was having none of it.

Domino had crossed a line and betrayed his trust. He knew that sounded filthy rich coming from him, but he'd already bent enough rules with this one. Deacon felt a dark anger begin to swirl up inside of him, and only when Domino repeated his name quietly, did he realize his hand had moved to grip her shoulder and part of her delicate neck. Domino tried to stay still, but he could still feel her shaking, ever so slightly, still holding her the wrist he'd grabbed to her chest. Deacon held his breath, counted down from five, then ten; none of it was working. His long fingers moved into her hair, gripping down tightly. 

Domino chirped, alarmed at the now slight bend in her neck from his grasp. She had a hard head, but she wasn't entirely sure what the best course of action was at this point. If she ran, would he chase her, maybe hurt her? She had no idea, so she just stayed as still and quiet as possible, while his grip on her hair tightened slowly. She grimaced. Deacon had an ugly thought about how to possibly funnel his rage at what she'd done to him without causing physical harm to either of them, and he decided it was worth a shot. He loosened the reins on his inner darkness a little, because he needed an outlet for all this frustration he was feeling, and in one swift movement, swung his companion onto the mattress face-down, as she let out another startled cry, muffled now by its dirty fabric. With his other hand he slapped her ass,  _hard,_ maybe harder than he'd ever actively tried to slap anyone, and when he did that she actually  _screamed._ However short and clipped,the noise; even the implication of the noise, confused but also aroused him. As a result he didn't quite know what to do next, so he accidentally asked her something telling, something he was actually wondering; "Why in the fuck did you try to do that to me?"

Domino was panting, turning her head to the side as she gasped for air. Almost pitifully, she began to sputter, "Deacon, I-"

But he realized in just as short of an instant that the question had been a bid for time on his part, for both of them, and right then he really didn't care what the answer was. Right then was the time for retribution. He stared down with what he soon realized was a kind of twisted pride, at the harsh rouge blooming slowly on Domino's large, round ass-cheek. He knew from experience how much more it could sting when you weren't prepared for a blow; how much it must have been downright  _throbbing_ _._ He himself would have been close to throbbing at that point, but for some reason, Deacon's eyes wouldn't leave the mark he'd left on her, now almost completely a mirror of his large, thick hand; it pulled him out of the moment, to a darker place. 

He remembered the feeling of her own hand on his face, only hours ago. The ache of it, how he could feel the pain come to a point at what had been the end of each one of her delicate fingers splayed across his high cheekbone. He remembered how his anger had flared at her then, too; _how the fuck did this woman manage to push so many of his damned buttons?_ He could scarcely remember the last time any human had managed to make him feel so out of control of his emotions, let alone so frequently. Unfortunately that line of thinking naturally lead to the way Domino had made Deacon feel when she'd told him not to touch her, because he had, in a way, betrayed a kind of fragile trust between every man and woman in any kind of partnership. What was that disgusting feeling again?  _Oh, right. Guilt._ Adding that to the list of things this particular woman was reawakening in Deacon wholly against his will, he did what he'd been doing so little of lately, especially around  _her;_ becoming a big fucking problem, by the way, and actually managed to control himself. Releasing his grip on her neck, he thrust himself away from the bed, away from Domino, and how he'd almost rage-fucked her into motel-mattress oblivion. He found himself pinching the bridge of his nose, a stress-tell he was rarely out of control enough to let slip anymore, and said in a very flat and even tone, "Get out."

Domino raised herself up as immediately as she'd had the ability, sitting on her knees, Deacon's voice ringing with nothing but apathy in her ears. She found herself fruitlessly plead with Deacon with her eyes, but he still wasn't facing her, and showed no signs of turning around. The corded muscles in his shoulders we're tight with anxiety, and she thought she could see the wet shine of sweat trailing down the back of his neck, just out of his hairline. She wanted to apologize for being so, so,  _fucking stupid,_  as to think she might somehow get away with her half-baked plan. A plan that she, a closing-in on middle-aged woman who just woke up in this new world might somehow outsmart someone who had lived this reality his whole life. A plan that wasn't even that important, anyways. Domino was suddenly sorry she'd ever wanted to see his stupid eyes; she was just chasing some childish curiosity.  _Something to keep her going, maybe._

"Dom, I really,  _really_ need you to get out."

Domino didn't realize she'd glanced down at her hands until his voice startled her out of her head. She was alarmed to see Deacon was visibly shaking now, and she felt herself rise up, move toward him slowly in the empty darkness of the room. When she was close enough to hear him breathing, she whispered, "Deacon, please listen to me."

"I can't even fucking look at you right now."

It was barely a whisper, but she heard it- and was surprised at how much it hurt; how it somehow stung more than his physical hand on her body. She watched as his fists balled up tightly and relaxed, over and over, as if he had invisible stress toys in each one. Finally, when she still couldn't make herself move toward the door, he said, "Fine, I'll leave."

His body language was eclectic and jerky as he moved to find his clothing in the dark, but Domino stopped him. Sure, it was her room, and she didn't have to leave unless she damn well pleased, but she had the sinking feeling in her gut that at the very least, she owed the man some comfortable space. "No. I'll go. I need some air, anyways."

Domino had scrambled for her cigarettes, and something to make herself more decent before she shut the hotel room door behind her. Shaking, she tried to control her breathing as she walked down a flight of stairs and into a secluded stairwell. There was a path that lead back in to the bar area, or a shady looking door lit up ominously with a flickering "Exit" sign. Domino pushed herself through it, feeling the tepid breeze from the outside flood the area around her body before the door swooshed shut behind her, and the air was still again. Not bothering to look around, Domino lit her cigarette, taking an anxious puff as she thought about how badly she'd pissed off Deacon. Had she really thought he wouldn't wake up? Had she really thought he wouldn't be angry? She wasn't sure anymore, her nerves were so frazzled. Then there was a muffled scrape of pavement behind her, and Domino's head snapped around almost violently.

There was a man standing back there, partially in shadow. He looked to be about 5'10" and medium in frame, with a cap that covered most of his hair; even in the darkness she could see he was stacked with weapons. It was only in the split second she had noticed them, that she realized it wasn't the first time she'd seen him. Domino recognized him from the bar, but they hadn't spoken. She'd merely seen him, drinking alone in the corner, and wondered why he felt the need to carry so many visible accoutrements. She had shrugged him off then, partially because she hadn't been alone, and she'd had weapons of her own. Now, not so much, on both of those counts.

The man was holding his hands splayed out in front of him now, trying to be as non-threatening as possible. He hadn't meant to startle the woman; after all, he'd been out there minding his own business up until that point, just enjoying the fresh air. Or as fresh as the air could be, in Goodneighbor. "Woah, woah, woah. I'm sorry. I wasn't meaning to scare anyone."

Domino didn't trust the situation, but she couldn't help but relax a little, with his hands in the air like that. Like it was some kind of movie. She took another quick puff of her cigarette, hugging her arms around herself, a little more aware than she wanted to be of not only how unprotected she felt without at least a knife, but also of how little clothing she was wearing. The situation with Deacon hadn't left her with much time to search for anything less revealing than her patchy, short leather coat, and other than that it was all thin jammies. "No, I guess I'm sorry. I'm Domino. I have a room here. I, didn't mean to bother you, um...?"

She held out her hand to him, gesturing oddly, almost a request. The whole situation was so surreal, it took him a while to respond. "I'm uh, RJ MacCready actually. You can just call me Mac."

He couldn't help but notice that she was shaking, just a little, as she puffed away on her cigarette. Mac absentmindedly started patting at his pockets, trying to figure out where he'd stashed his own. Domino's eyes darted to his hands, watching him find a cigarette, but seemingly fail to locate something to light it with. She continued to observe as he turned slightly, checking his back pockets. She smiled a little, watching him. It was kind of funny, and definitely put her more at ease. He'd turned away from her; even if only for a second, it meant he wasn't on the offense. "Hey."

Domino called out to him, holding a pack of matches out in one hand. Reluctantly, Mac moved toward her. He got close enough to grasp them, but paused and looked at her eyes instead. They were swollen, and puffy.  _Hmm._ Mac grabbed the little pack from her hand, and when their skin met, he felt an odd sort of trust take hold in him. Not many people he ran into nowadays were so hospitable; so non-hostile. It was a little disarming. Domino took another hit off her cigarette as Mac lit his own, and when he tried to hand the matches back to her, she waived his hand away. "You can keep them," she murmered, so quietly he barely heard her.

As she stood in the moonlight, face blank and somehow sad, Mac wracked his brain for traces of her face. It didn't take him long to recognize having seen her in the bar earlier that night; first alone, or so he'd assumed, walking in the door. That time she'd clocked him; his hazel eyes met her green ones as he chewed on a toothpick, lazily. They'd measured each other up, decided mutually that there was no need for another glance, and that was that. People did it all the time without conscious thought.

The second time he saw her, she'd been furiously headed toward the bar, from outside again, with a guy following closely behind. Mac had watched them for a moment, assumed it was a lover's quarrell, and gone back to minding his own business; looking at the state of her now, he wasn't so sure that had been the right call. He didn't want to pry, so he tried to make polite conversation instead, and see what he could learn. "So, what brings you to Goodneighbor? I don't feel like I've seen you around here before."

Dom exhaled, throwing her spent cigarette butt far and away. She was beginning to calm down a little, but wished she'd had time to grab her mentats before she'd left the room. She could use a little more than nicotine to take the edge off right now. Without really thinking, she breathed, "I'm looking for my son."

Domino stared off into the darkness. Mac didn't know what he'd expected her to say, but it definitely wasn't that. He couldn't control the chord it struck in him, either. He all but blurted out that he was here trying to help his son, too. It wasn't the full truth, but he didn't suppose that mattered. She was looking at him intently now, but couldn't decide what to say. Mac spoke, instead. "Maybe I can help you with your son? It's kind of what I do, actually."

Domino found that a little funny, giggling almost silently. "You...what? Go around helping random strangers find their kids? Kind of a weird occupation."

MacCready scoffed, and admittedly blushed a little. He couldn't tell if she was making fun of him or not. He stammered, "No, I mean, I'm more of a hired gun, actually. I...I don't know what happened to your kid, but I'm sure there's something I can do."

 _Hired gun, huh?_ Domino had a thought, but it wasn't fully formed. "I doubt I have the caps to make it worth your time."

Mac looked down at his boots, finishing what was left of his cigarette while Domino regarded him. It was only now she noticed how young Mac looked; far too fresh faced to be a father, let alone hired muscle. They were standing close enough now that she could see a smattering of freckles on both his cheeks, making him look younger still. What did she know though? She was a 200 year old who hadn't aged a day before she'd left her vault and discovered a whole new world had been revolving without her in it for some time. Maybe people aged differently, now. Mac finally raised his eyes to meet hers once more, and said, "I could...I could give you a break. Since you're looking for your boy, and not trying to ice some bonehead who's screwing your wife or something."

Mac sighed. He ran into a lot of garbage people in his line of work, but that didn't change the fact that garbage people _paid_. His bleeding heart always ended up being detrimental to his wallet, and vis a vis, his own son; he didn't know what exactly it was about this broad that made him want to help her so much, but there they were. There was a niggling part of him in the back of his mind that knew it had a little to do with how lost she looked, how the moon threw her curves into a host of shadows and highlights in her thin sleepwear. He felt himself blushing again, and cleared his throat nervously, hoping she hadn't noticed him staring. Right as her silence had started to make him a little fidgety, she spoke. "Maybe there is something you can help me with."

Mac couldn't read the look on her face. She didn't look happy about her request, and had begun to kind of grimace. He waited for her to elaborate as she hugged her arms tighter around herself, and began nibbling on her lower lip as she tried to think through her plan. She looked into his eyes, suddenly, catching him off-guard. There was something disarming about her gaze, and Mac wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it. "Do you think you could follow me?"

Mac blinked, not entirely sure what she meant by that. Domino went on, "I'm already with someone...but I don't know if I trust him. We're going try to find the man who has Shaun soon. That's my son. Do you think you could follow us without him knowing?"

Mac had no way of knowing her whole situation, and he could tell she was being purposefully vague, which was fine, in his book. She had no reason to fully trust him either, after all. They had literally just met. He could be anyone, for all she knew. "I hate to be preachy, but it seems to me like if you don't trust him, you probably shouldn't be traveling with him."

"It's complicated," was all she could think to say. 

Domino looked away then, almost started chewing on her nails from stress, but managed to stop herself. This had been a stupid idea. Deacon was already furious with her, and he was one of the most astute people she'd ever met. If he found out she'd hired someone to follow them, she couldn't say she knew what he would do. Then again, maybe that's why she needed this Mac person. Maybe looking out for herself was more important than worrying over the trust of a man who wouldn't even look her in the eyes. She looked in Mac's eyes again; they were dark, but had a kind of softness to them that matched everything else about his youthful face except for the scruffy beard lining his mouth and jaw. If he had trouble looking her in the eye, he made a good show of hiding it. "Look, do you think you can do it, or not?"

Mac wasn't sure getting involved in whatever "complicated" situation this Domino woman was in with her kid and mystery partner, but something about her made him want to help, even if it was at a discount. Wasn't like she'd asked him to kill anyone. _Yet._ The job hadn't even begun, but there were still an inumerable amount of ways it could go south. Despite his better judgement, he agreed.

"I guess we have a deal then," Domino almost murmered, still unsure. All she could do now was hope she didn't need him.

After ironing out the finer details with Mac over so-late-they're-early drinks, and some surprisingly tasty Brahmin jerky back down at the bar, Domino headed quietly back toward her room just as the sun started peaking over the horizon. She stood at the door, breathing for a moment. It had been a few hours, but she wasn't entirely sure what to expect when, or if, that door opened. Shaking the tension out with her hands, she curled one into a fist, knocking on the door three times. When there wasn't an answer after a moment, she knocked again, less softly. Tentatively, when she still didn't hear any movement, she twisted the knob, surprised it wasn't locked, and slowly pushed the creaking door open. Darkness greeted her, and she let out a breath she hadn't even known she'd been holding. Her eyes scanned the room quickly; the bed was still a mess, her bag was where she left it, and the bathroom door was open and equally dark on the inside. Deacon was gone. Her hand found the lightswitch and flipped it upward, illuminating the small space eerily. She moved further into the room, closing the door behind her. Her body sagged down onto the bed and she kept looking around. He hadn't brought anything but his clothes, and she didn't see them anywhere. There was no note, and the bottle of alcohol still lay on the floor where it had been last, mostly empty.

Domino didn't know how to feel. She hadn't really wanted to have a follow up conversation with Deacon so soon after what happened, but had she really made him mad enough to leave? To bail on his part of their bargain? Domino sighed, reaching into her bag for her tin of pills, washing a few down with what was left of the booze before tossing the empty bottle into a small trash can in the corner, and flipping the lightswitch back off. She was too tired to worry about what was going on between she and Deacon right now, and there wasn't much time left for her to attempt any real kind of sleep. Domino needed to get back to Railroad headquarters and pick Dogmeat back up; Tinker Tom had offered to keep an eye on him while she and Deacon went out for the prototype. He thought having the dog around wasn't the best idea for the type of covert work they'd be doing. Getting Dogmeat back and finding a way to Kellogg were her next moves, regardless of whether or not she had Deacon's help. 

* * *

 

Domino awoke to a pounding on the motel room door, not hours after she'd laid down. She grumbled out from under the covers, as Deacon opened the door, and she heard his plodding footsteos make their way toward her. She only had a half a second to both remember, and have immediate anxiety about what their last encounter had been like. Domino bristled under the blanket, and peeped in surprise as Deacon ripped it away from her body. The temperature change was ghastly, and Dom felt goosebumps rise upon her skin as Deacon's voice rang out; "Rise and shine, sleepyhead. We got places to be."

 


End file.
